Back Where We Belong
by Addicted1
Summary: Short alternate ending scene for the S4 Finale (SPOILER ALERT through S4). Magic can't bring back the dead. Back in Storybrooke, Rumplestiltskin needs to see Regina for himself before the remainder of his humanity is snuffed out. Oneshot. Golden Queen-esque. Canon ships, but Rumbellers should probably skip it. (OQ ambivalent.)


Regina was alive.

Rumplestiltskin felt something unclench in his chest, and he dropped onto the bench behind him. He hadn't killed her. Despite knowing the rules of Isaac's book, centuries of conditioning had taught him that the dead stay dead. Even magic could not bring them back.

It could do much, but not that.

Except this time.

Henry had written a few magic words and now mother and son were reuniting in the middle of Main Street. Regina hugged Henry fiercely, smoothed his hair, kissed his forehead, and the boy subtly relaxed with each touch.

Rumple exhaled slowly and tried to ignore the pain that chewed at his insides.

He shifted his weight and sharp heat jolted through his chest. His shallow breathing quickened, and the street wobbled on its axis.

It would appear Henry had undone his happy ending rather completely.

Rumple took in the mother and son. Emma had joined them and her arms cut through the air, punctuating whatever point she was making. Though Regina was paying rapt attention to her story, her hand remained on Henry's shoulder, her fingers absently rubbing it back in forth in subtle reassurance. Rumple closed and opened his eyes in a long blink. He searched his mind, pushing his pain down until it was merely jarring white noise, but his bag of tricks was empty.

This was it. He was going to die this time.

Still, he was glad she was alive.

Then she spotted him.

Regina took in how he sagged on the bench and she approached him, oddly not angry given that he'd just murdered her.

"We always knew we'd kill each other," she said as she arranged herself on the bench beside him.

He chuckled-a half-thing that turned into a cough, a fight for air-and she sat next to him, concerned and willing herself not to touch him.

"How much time do you have left?" she asked.

"Very little."

She nodded and waved her hand with an unusual lack of flourish.

They rematerialized in the cemetery, Rumple seated on the wet grass, his right side leaning heavily on Bae's gravestone for support. Regina stood a few feet away, close enough to hear anything he would say, but far enough away to be able to pretend not to.

Rumple ran his hand across his son's name, pushing his fingers in the grooves of the lettering. "I'm so sorry, Bae," he whispered and leaned his head against the gravestone.

After an interminable yet brief moment, "Do you think he loved me?"

Regina looked at her dying mentor and weighed her words. "He died to bring you back. Isn't that love?"

"You didn't answer the question, dearie."

She smirked. This felt familiar. She remained silent and he continued.

"He didn't bring me back because he loved me. He resurrected me so I could save the family he did love."

Regina did him the courtesy of not contradicting him with empty words.

Instead, she said, "He trusted you."

Rumple looked up at her, uncaring that this was the most vulnerable he'd ever appeared in his centuries of life, and hung on her next words.

"I don't know whether he loved you. We weren't that close. He was a sperm donor to me." Regina shrugged her shoulders and walked the few steps to stand over him. "But when his world fell apart, he went to _you_ to fix it." She knelt beside him, poking her finger into his sternum with painful emphasis. "He believed in you and he trusted you to make it better. Other parents would _kill_ for that kind of faith from their child."

He gazed at her, his gratitude thick between them, but he would never say thank you and she would never allow it even if he would.

Regina shifted her weight to sit more comfortably on the ground, book-ending Rumple between her and Bae's headstone.

"You should leave," Rumple said.

Regina shrugged and observed him. Rumple didn't look like he had the energy for his usual wily, malevolent-imp tricks, but his breathing did seem easier and more even than it had been.

They still had time.

"What's all this dying nonsense about anyway?" she asked blithely.

Before he could answer, she shoved her hand into his chest and tore his heart out. Quickly, she brought her other hand up to cup the organ that was trying to ooze through her fingers like a blackened rotten tomato.

Regina examined it clinically. A scarlet firefly of light glimmered at her from near the center.

"And I thought my heart was worse for the wear. You always did have to one-up me, though, didn't you?"

"By all means, mock me while I die."

"Oh, I will," she replied immediately. "Count on it. But you're not going to die today."

"Really? The disintegrating organ in your hand begs to differ."

Regina's lips curled upward in her Cheshire, gloating grin. "Take a closer look at it."

He looked at her distrustfully but then turned his eyes to his heart. His eyes widened. They must be playing tricks on him.

"That's right. That tiny shred of humanity—probably all you had to begin with—is holding strong and steady," she looked at him meaningfully, "and you've been too busy bickering with me to notice, but you're breathing easily now."

Rumple's eyebrows rose and he took inventory of his body. It still felt stretched and wrong and not fully his, but it no longer felt like it was working against him. Regina was right. He scowled at the thought. She was insufferable when she was right. Dying might have been preferable.

"That's right, Rumple," she gloated. "You're not going to die."

"That's nice," Rumple replied dismissively, sitting up into a slightly more dignified position. "Give me my heart back."

Regina snatched her hands away from him. "Nuh uh. I'm going to keep it."

"You're going to keep it?" Rumple parroted. What could she want with it?

"Yes," Regina spoke as though to a smile child. "You can't be trusted with it. The Darkness has been trying to take over your heart since you first became the Dark One, and you withstood it for _centuries_. Then what? Your housemaid throws a fit and shoves you across the town line and you're just ready to _give in_? Pathetic."

"Belle is my _wife_ ," he growled at her.

"So you married the help. How progressive of you." Regina waved her hand, unconcerned with such trifling details. "Regardless, you hit a snag in your perfect plan and decided it was easier to give up than to fight. I told you before and I'll tell you again: you will die at no one's hands but my own. Especially now. Since you killed me. Your death is _mine_. You don't get to decide."

With a victorious, maliciously gleeful expression, Regina raised his heart close to her lips. Rumple froze, gripped in morbid anticipation of what she would command of him.

"Live," she commanded his heart, and he felt her will, like steel, wrap cords around his own, jerking it into where she so desired. Regina caught his eyes as she spoke directly to the core of him, her lips so close to his heart he could swear he felt them brush against it. "Fight to keep your humanity. Fight to live. Never give up."

Regina must have performed an extra piece of magic on the "never," because his soul _seared_. It burned him from the inside out; he felt his veins and capillaries pop in a domino of explosions that started in his chest and radiated to his extremities.

When he came back to himself, droplets of sweat were dripping down his neck and his hand was clutched over his empty chest cavity while he panted for useless air.

Regina was staring at him, assessing.

He glared at her. Or tried to. His entire body was spent.

A pinball core of stunning bright red pulsed, mocking him, from the center of his heart held in Regina's hands.

Regina nodded in approval. "That's better."

She shoved, none-too-gently, his heart back into his chest and stood, brushing herself off. As she prepared to leave, she looked down at him.

"Your life is mine." She savored the words and her tongue and teeth enunciated every syllable.

He winced despite himself.

"See you at Family Dinner on Sunday." She flashed him a gratingly bright smile.

Then Rumple was alone in the cemetery, hand over his heart, tasting the remnants of her distinctive purple magic.

There might be worse fates.

None came to mind.

.

.

.

* * *

 **A/N:** Reviews are appreciated; they help me decide whether these little fics are worth posting. Also, I had the worst time thinking of a title for this, so suggestions are welcome!


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